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“We can kill every creature the god brought to the island. That way, there are no players for his sadistic game and we can return home.”
“What of the nymphs you so favor?”
A sigh slipped from him. “They are our friends. They live.”
“What of the Amazons?”
Layel closed his eyes for a moment, drew in a shuddering breath. He’d thought to kill Delilah earlier, but had failed. Mistake. Now there was another reason to do so. A reason not so easily discarded. “They will not be so fortunate.”
A slow smile spread across Zane’s pale face. “The gods will regret bringing us here.”
“Yes.” A warm breeze slid against what little skin Layel had bared—the skin on his face, as well as a patch on his arm where one of the dragons had burned away his shirt. While he smelled salt and dew, flower blossoms, fruit and aroused female—damn, but he wanted to banish that scent!—this island lacked the scent of enchantment that Atlantis possessed.
In Atlantis, he could wander the halls of his palace, imagining Susan at his side, laughing up at him, green eyes sparkling. Here, he seemed to imagine nothing but the little Amazon. Even now, all he could picture was that blue hair fisted in his hands, that exotic face staring up at him in passion and need, those eyes hot, legs spread, feminine core wet and glistening, his tongue tracing those tattoos.
He craved her blood in his mouth.
His fangs sharpened, ready…so ready…
He would kill her first, he decided, hands compressing into fists. His nails were once again elongated into claws. They cut past skin and into the meat of his hands until warmth trickled and pooled in the creases of his fingers. Why are you so upset? Why are you hurting yourself? Any more blood loss and you’ll weaken. As the god said, you need your strength.
“We’ll wait for darkness to fall,” he told Zane, the words emerging on another of those broken sighs. Why the reluctance to see his plan through? He didn’t care about the Amazon. He hated her. Yes, hated. With nearly the same intensity he hated the dragons. “Then we’ll attack them, one by one.”
Delilah has done nothing wrong, his mind protested. She does not deserve death at your hands.
Logically, he knew that to be true. Yet logic meant nothing to him just then. He had to get that woman out of his head. She didn’t belong there and was disrupting the only sense of peace he knew. A peace he desperately needed, for any distraction could allow the dragons to best him.
This time, when she was within reach, he would not look at her, would not smell her sweet fragrance. He would simply act. “Come, we need distance from the gods,” he said, leading his charge deeper into the forest, not stopping until they reached a riverbank.
Zane bent down, palmed a stone and tossed it into the pristine water. “I wonder what happened to our brethren after we were taken.”
“If they assume we are dead and crown a new king, I will kill them all.”
Zane snorted in amusement, as Layel had meant for him to do. He valued his people; they were his greatest weapon against his enemy. And though he had been teasing, knowing well how loyal his men were, he would not tolerate a new king. It was funny, really, since he’d once abhorred his crown. “If they are the warriors I trained them to be,” he continued, “they finished slaughtering the dragons and are now celebrating the victory and planning a search for us.”
“A celebration we are missing.” A dark glaze spread over Zane’s eyes, making the irises as black as onyx. He grabbed and threw another stone. “I hate this place. The demons here…”
“Are yours.” When Layel had stormed the demon queen’s palace to pilfer her treasury after he’d killed her, he’d found Zane waiting in her bed, naked and oiled so that he would be ready for her pleasure. Clearly he hadn’t been forced by physical means to remain there, but his relief at her death had been palpable.
Layel didn’t know why he’d been there, seemingly willing; he only knew the warrior’s hate was as great as his own.
Zane’s wide shoulders relaxed slightly. Until both men caught a glimpse of blue hair several feet away. The owner of that hair never came into sight, limbs and shrubs hiding her as she searched for…weapons? A place to stay? No, his first supposition was right, he mused, his traitorous heart speeding up. He would stake his life on it. Did she know he was nearby? Probably.
“What of the little Amazon you nearly ate?” Zane whispered fiercely. “I would like to finish her, as well.”
Layel experienced a spark of anger. “She is mine. I will take care of her.”
“That, I know. But do you plan to bed her or kill her? You looked ready to do both when she straddled your chest.”
“What do you think?” he asked, because he did not wish to lie to a fellow vampire.
“I told you. I think you would like to do both.”
“And I think you are in danger of unleashing my wrath.” Truth.
“Nothing new there.” Unconcerned, Zane tossed another stone. Plop, plop. “Perhaps you can do both.”
Surely that had not been wistfulness seeping from his tone. “No.” Layel ran his tongue over his teeth. One of his fangs stabbed into the sensitive organ, the resulting bead of blood reminding him that he’d gorged himself earlier, while battling the dragons, yet that hadn’t stopped his cravings for Delilah. “No,” he repeated for his own benefit. “Too cruel.” For Delilah and himself.
“Have you ever tasted an Amazon?”
“No.” Every race possessed a unique flavor. The dragons—sulfur. The demons—rot. Centaurs—sweet, almost like honeyed hay. Minotaurs—strong, tangy. Nymphs—ambrosia. But Amazons? What would they—she—taste like?
You will never find out, he vowed. He would die before he placed any part of himself inside that woman. It was time to change the subject. “Come. Time grows short. We’ll make spears, daggers and arrows.”
“And which do you plan to use on the girl?”
“My bare hands,” he said. Even as he spoke, he longed to use his hands in a different way. For pleasure, not pain. Satisfaction, not death. Neither of which he would allow. The fact that he still wished to do such a thing told him beyond any doubt he needed to rid himself of her, just as he’d planned.
Zane gave another of those eerie smiles. “Until nightfall, then.”
Layel nodded grimly.
Chapter Five
POSEIDON, GOD OF THE SEA, towered inside the coral palace he’d built himself in the center of the ocean, staring into a large, mist-entrenched mirror. Beyond the mist, Paradise and its reluctant new inhabitants were visible, a feast for his gaze.
“They are confused,” he said. He’d left them a short while ago, had told them not to worry—hadn’t he?—yet their panic had only grown.
A murmur of “yes” arose, the timbres a mix of excitement, resolve and nonchalance.
Four other gods had journeyed through portals in Mount Olympus to join him here. Poseidon turned, studying them as intently as he’d studied the Atlanteans in the mirror. Ares, god of war, possessing a temper far worse even than Poseidon’s own. Hestia, plain yet somehow seductive, whose spell-casting abilities were eclipsed only by her determination to make a name for herself by any means possible, fair or foul. Apollo, smile brighter than the sun he controlled, fiercely loyal to those he loved. And finally, Artemis, twin sister to Apollo, as wild as the flowers growing on earth—and as cold as ice.
Upon their arrival, Poseidon had been forced to drain his palace to accommodate lungs not as superior as his own. Now ocean water churned outside rather than in, lapping at the outer walls, the roof. Every few seconds, a droplet fell from the bejeweled chandelier and splashed against the ebony floor.
Hestia eyed those droplets with disdain.
If she wasn’t careful, he would drown her.
For centuries, Poseidon had remained here in the water. King to his merpeople, forgotten by earthlings and utterly bored. Truly, nothing had entertained him. Not peace and prosperity. Not storms, famine and war. Then, a few months ago by the Atlantean calendar, two of his mermaids had told him of dissent in Atlantis. Atlantis, a place he’d forgotten completely over the years. A place they’d all forgotten.
A place that belonged to them.
He’d slipped inside, observed unnoticed for a bit, surprised to find the creatures thriving. Curious about their reaction to him, he’d finally announced himself. Still bored, he’d begun moving the citizens about like chess pieces, pitting the dragons against the nymphs and watching the strong, determined warriors resort to battle in their need to protect their females and homes. But in the end they hadn’t killed each other as he’d anticipated. Hadn’t really even argued. They’d reached a treaty, baffling him.
The unpredictability had been delightful. And just like that, all of his ennui had melted away.
Other gods, as bored with their routines as he had been, noticed the abrupt change in his mood. It wasn’t as though he could hide it. The churning waters had settled into calm serenity. His four unexpected guests soon had arrived here, wanting to know the source of his joy. I should have lied. Told them anything but Atlantis.
That fateful day of their arrival was burned inside his head.
You can’t just waltz inside, he’d said after his confession—and their subsequent desire to do as he’d done—wanting to keep his new favorite toy to himself.
Why not? Hestia had anchored her hands on her wonderfully flared hips. You did.
Yes, and we can’t toss another surprise at them. That would be cruel.
Ares had snorted. Like you’re all flowers and sunshine. We’re going in, and you can’t stop us.
His hands had fisted in frustration. What do you hope to gain with this visit? Just as we once forgot the Atlanteans, they have now forgotten us. You will not be worshipped in their realm, nor will you be thanked for your reappearance.
Apollo had shrugged, the dire warning of no concern to him. I want to know how my nymphs have fared without me. I should not have abandoned them as I did and wish to make amends.
His nymphs? His? They were made with equal measures of all of us, Poseidon had reminded him with irritation. But if he were honest, he would admit that some races tended to favor one god above the rest, as though a war had raged during their creation and certain characteristics had defeated all others. Besides, they have flourished despite your neglect. They are happy now and would despise any interference.
As they despised yours? Apollo splayed his arms. Doesn’t matter. They fared better than most, I’m sure.
What’s that supposed to mean? Artemis had asked. If a creature resembles you, it’s better than all those around it?
Thus had begun a spirited hour-long debate about the strengths of each race, the weaknesses of each race and whom each race took after, finally culminating in an annoyed yet excited announcement from Ares. Enough! Arguing solves nothing. Let’s put them on trial, shall we?
What do you propose? Hestia had asked hesitantly.
Simply that we put our opinions to the ultimate test with a little wager. We’ll take two of every race—unmated, of course, or there’ll be an uprising—and pit the creatures against each other. If your choice wins, you can enter and leave Atlantis unfettered. However, if your choice loses, you can never set foot in the dome again.
Poseidon had tilted his head as he considered the pros and cons. If he lost, his fun ended. If he ensured his creatures won, he could have Atlantis all to himself, just as he wanted.
A sound idea, but…Apollo frowned. Why two?
One powerful warrior could be an anomaly, Ares said. Two powerful warriors will prove the race’s superior strength and intelligence.
And how will we choose the competitors? Artemis had asked, arching a brow.
Just the way our friend Poseidon chose the pawns in his little game, of course. Observation. We’ll watch them and decide on the strongest, the bravest, the most resilient together. Then, we’ll design challenges that will test their fortitude, wits and determination.
What will happen to the creatures who fail us? Artemis asked.
I think we should dispose of the losers, Poseidon had suggested. That way they cannot sing tales of our actions to the people of Atlantis. And he, the winner, would not have to deal with the backlash. Besides, I’m sure the lot of you will be angry and looking for vengeance when your choice loses to mine. Killing the creatures who brought about your loss will surely be cathartic.
Hestia’s eyes had narrowed. We’ll see who wins, won’t we?
Two Atlantean weeks later, and here they were.
“The vampire will win,” Ares said confidently now. “He has murder in his eyes. A look I know well.”
Hestia peered out at the creatures moving through the forest, creatures who couldn’t see them. “The vampire king or his warrior?”
“Does it matter? We were to pick a race, not an individual.”
“I was merely curious.” She shook her head, dark hair tumbling down her back. “But you’re right. It does not matter, for the Amazons will win, no question. They are resilient, determined, unafraid to fight for what they know they deserve. A lot like me. The young one has been betrayed by everyone she has ever loved. There’s bitterness inside her. Bitterness and hate. She’ll unleash a storm of fury unlike anything you have ever seen.”
“Please.” Apollo laughed, the carefree sound at odds with the combatant he was. “She might be a smoldering cauldron of dark emotion, but she possesses the heart of an innocent. More than that, the nymphs carry my light inside them. Why do you think all creatures, male and female, are drawn to them? Your Amazon will be no exception and will end up bowing to them.”
“The nymphs are indeed seducers,” Artemis said, “but their beauty cannot compete with the fair-means-or-foul mentality of the demons. They would eat their own young to win a battle.”
“Well, I say the dragons will eat everyone before the first game ends,” Poseidon replied. “Their strength and hunger are legendary. Even the people of earth exalt them.”
Ares rubbed his hands together. He was so tall, even Poseidon had to look up to him. He had dark hair and equally dark eyes, and radiated such intense wickedness he could have passed for Hades’s twin. “We’ve all made our choices. It’s past time to begin.”
Another murmur of “yes” arose, this one dripping with exhilaration.
“The other creatures,” Poseidon said. “Those we did not vote for. The minotaurs, centaurs, gorgons and formorians.”
“If one of the unfavored wins, the contest is—What am I saying?” Ares chuckled. “The unfavored will not win.”
“Well, I am ready to see who will. There can be no interfering from this moment on,” Artemis said, eyeing each god until she received a nod of agreement. “What happens will happen. Whoever wins will win, and we will accept the outcome and the consequences with graciousness befitting our stations.”
“Of course.” Poseidon waved his hand in the air, hoping he appeared convincing. He would ensure the dragons won by any means necessary. He had no doubt his fellow gods would come to respect his actions in time. Hadn’t Artemis praised the demons for just such ruthlessness, and Hestia admired the Amazons for a similar unyielding drive?
When the dragons won, Poseidon would win, and Atlantis would once again be his and his alone.
NIGHT HAD LONG SINCE FALLEN.
The air was warm, fragrant and fraught with danger. The insects were eerily silent, not a chirp or whistle to be heard. Only the wind seemed impervious to the surrounding menace, swishing leaves and clicking branches together.
Delilah’s every self-protective instinct remained on high alert. No telling where the other creatures were. She’d spied a few here and there as she’d gathered stones and sticks. And then they had disappeared, hiding amongst the shadows. She could have hunted them down, could have challenged them to prove her strength, as was the way of the Amazons, but she hadn’t.
The god’s warning refused to leave her mind. What if she killed one of her own team members? To begin at a disadvantage would be the epitome of foolish. And she’d been foolish a little too often lately.
She and Nola had opted to sleep in the trees, making them harder to find, harder to reach. Right now she was strewn atop a thick branch, legs swinging over the side, handmade spear clutched tightly in her palms. Wooden daggers were strapped to her legs, waist and back. Thankfully, she’d been trained in the art of weaponry, learning how to create the deadliest of tools out of anything and everything she could find in the forest.
Sharp bark dug into her ribs, helping keep her awake, alert. What were the other creatures doing just then?
What was Layel doing?
Layel…beautiful Layel. She’d hardly interacted with him, yet their brief exchanges had been enough to utterly, foolishly fascinate her. There, an admission. He was like no one she had ever encountered. Constantly she found herself wondering what his body looked like underneath his clothes, what his face would look like lost in passion, what he would feel like, pumping and sliding inside of her.
He despises you. He’s best forgotten.
Forget that his skin was pale and as smooth as silk? Forget that his eyes were blue like sapphires and fringed by black lashes that were a striking contrast to his snow-white hair? Forget that he was tall with wide shoulders and radiated a dark sensuality women probably salivated over? Impossible.
What kind of females did he enjoy? What type of females had he allowed into his bed? In all the stories she’d heard of him, not a word had been uttered about his preferred bed partners. That didn’t mean he’d remained alone all these years.
Sparks of something sinister flickered in her chest. Jealousy, perhaps. She wanted to deny the emotion, but couldn’t. Mine, she thought. He might want nothing more to do with her, but no way in Hades would he be allowed to have another woman. Not while they inhabited this island.
What’s come over you? Men were no longer something she treasured, dreaming of love and laughter in the darkest of nights. To her, they were merely something for her sisters to use twice a year, something to destroy if ever they threatened her loved ones. Since her mating had ended so disastrously, she had not thought to ever again find herself possessive of a male.
How many times had she watched her sisters fight over a particular slave, as if he were a pretty trinket they meant to wear? He’s mine, they would shout, commandments conveniently forgotten. It’s my bed he will warm this night. A clash of daggers always followed, as well as cut and bleeding warrioresses. How many times had she watched those “prized” men leave when the loving was over? Without a backward glance at the females they were leaving behind? Not that her sisters had cared. But she had watched and wondered. How could they not want more from each other?
